All Chained Up (9 page)

He spat hot curses as he cocked back his fist and nailed her in the face with an iron fist. Pain and fire erupted in her cheek, radiating outward to her jaw. She was going to be sick. She went limp, blackness edging in on her vision.

Dimly, she heard a roar, and then Gronsky was gone. His weight off her. Wheezing for breath, she rolled to her side, holding her face and fighting off nausea.

She blinked several times, bringing her vision into focus. Callaghan lifted the inmate up off his feet with a growl that sounded like it was wrenched from the depths of him—­then slammed him back down onto the concrete. Gronsky's head struck the floor with a sickening smack. He collapsed there. Stunned. Maybe dead. She didn't know.

Chest heaving, Knox staggered one step and stopped before her. She gazed up at him, feral and wild, blood dripping from a fresh cut to his mouth. She pushed unsteadily to her knees. He reached for her arm, helping her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, a sob threatening to break loose from her chest. She pressed her lips tight to deny it, but then a rush of movement behind him made her scream.

Knox whirled around as Pritchard charged them. Knox shoved her back. The collision propelled her into a bed. Gasping, she arched away, her fingers clutching the edge of a mattress behind her. Before she had time to react, to search for the gun again, a flash of reflected light hit her in the face.

A pop of gunfire shattered the world in an explosion of glass.

A man screamed. Then there was another pop.

Knox tackled her, wrenching her to the floor. “Stay down!” he shouted.

“What's happening?” she croaked.

She lifted her head to see what was going on, but he slapped a hand on her head and forced her back down. “Damn it, they're shooting!”

In that brief glimpse she saw that half the windows lining the wall were gone, presumably the result of a sniper positioned on the building across from them. Someone was moaning not far from her, but she couldn't see who.

Suddenly, the room erupted with the arrival of black-­vested men holding rifles, shouting directives that she couldn't understand. She couldn't find her voice. She couldn't move. Couldn't think. She could only stare into the pair of blue eyes boring down into hers.

Even as he was hauled off her and dragged away, she felt connected to those eyes, that face, that man.

Knox Callaghan had saved her life.

 

TEN

“A
RE YOU SURE
you don't want to stay the night? You've been through quite an ordeal, Briar,” Dr. Walker said from where he reclined on his hospital bed. His wife sat beside him, holding his hand, the worry still etched in the gentle lines of her face.

Briar inhaled, the smell of antiseptic and industrial strength laundry detergent sharp in her nose, reminding her of the two semesters she completed her hospital rotations. Some ­people hated hospitals, but they comforted her. They were where the broken were made whole again. Most of the time at least.

Given the beating Dr. Walker took, they wanted to keep him overnight for observation. Fortunately, nothing was broken, but he wasn't a young man or particularly strong either. Josiah was lucky, too, resting comfortably in a room down the hall. She'd already paid him a visit after being released from the ER.

It was a miracle the three of them were alive.

Murphy, on the other hand, had been rushed into surgery and they had yet to hear word.

“I just really want to crawl into my own bed and sleep for like three days.” She'd endured the ER examination and answered all the questions from the prison personnel who immediately besieged them. It was almost midnight now, and today was officially the longest of her life. She just wanted to go home.

“Well, don't think of coming in on Monday. Or Tuesday. Take the week even. Maybe you should see a therapist before returning—­”

“I'm sure I'll be fine. Just need a little down time. Don't worry about me.” From the concerned look in his eyes, she knew it was pointless. He was going to worry.

“Briar. You've been through a trauma.” Mrs. Walker covered her husband's hand, wincing as she eyed Briar's face. Briar knew she looked like a train wreck. The CT scan confirmed nothing was broken in her face, but it would be a while before the swelling went down and she no longer resembled a prizefighter fresh from a match. “Are you sure you don't want us to call your parents?”

Briar hated being pitied and viewed as something broken. That's why growing up she had let the world think her dad was the greatest guy. She worked hard all her life not to let anyone know that her home life was essentially an after-­school special.

“Thank you, but no. I'll be fine. Really. It could have been so much worse. I'm just grateful we're all okay.”

Dr. Walker nodded and said the name that had been circling around in her mind all night. “Callaghan,” he marveled. “He saved us. He saved you from—­”

“I know,” she cut in. Not because she didn't want to discuss Callaghan but because she didn't want to give voice to what had almost happened to her. She actually
did
want to talk about Knox.

She wanted to make certain he wasn't in any trouble. When he had been dragged from the HSU, there didn't seem to be any distinction made between him and the other inmates. She had hammered that point exhaustively to prison officials when she was interrogated about the attack—­that Knox Callaghan was not only innocent but responsible for saving their lives.

“You spoke to the ­people from the prison?” she asked.

“Have no fear, I was quite vocal regarding his heroics.”

She sighed with relief. She had given a full accounting as well, but she was hoping the doctor and presumably Josiah's testimony added weight. The image of Callaghan being dragged away burned through her mind. She hated the idea that he could be stuck in segregation again . . . or punished in any other way.

“How are you getting home?” Mrs. Walker asked.

“I called my neighbor. She's waiting out in the hall.” No way would she have called her sister. Hopefully, Laurel would never have to know what happened.

“You get lots of rest, dear.” Mrs. Walker gave her that pitying smile again.

“Thank you.” She turned back to her boss. “Take care of yourself, too, Dr. Walker.”

With another smile that made her face ache, she ducked out of the hospital room. Shelley waited in the corridor where she had left her.

“Sorry. That took longer than I thought. They practically wanted to admit me overnight.”

Shelley frowned, pushing off the wall as she eyed Briar's face. “Are you sure you shouldn't—­”

“Not you, too. I need a shower and my bed. That's all.”

Shelley nodded, her dark eyes still bright with concern. “Have you eaten anything? Want me to stop and pick you up some food—­”

“No, I can eat something at home.” Not that she had much of an appetite anyway. “Thanks for coming to get me. Who's watching the kids?”

“Mrs. Gupta from downstairs is with them.”

Briar nodded distractedly. “That's nice of her.”

“She doesn't mind. She loves the kids.”

The night was considerably cooler than when they'd arrived by ambulance to the hospital. They walked outside to Shelley's car in the parking lot. Thankfully, her friend held her peace on the drive home, not prying into the day's events beyond what she had already been told.

Clearly, she sensed Briar's need for silence. That was why Briar had called Shelley. She was easy. No judgment. No pestering. Dread washed over her at the thought of Laurel ever learning of the day's events. Briar didn't relish hearing her say: “I told you so.”

Soon Shelley was parking in front of their building and they walked together up the second flight of stairs to their doors.

“Sure you don't need anything?” Shelley asked, pausing with Briar outside their doors. “If you don't want to be alone you could stay the night with us. The kids would love to wake up and find you there. I can make pancakes in the morning.”

Briar shook her head. Right now the empty solace of her apartment beckoned. She wanted to close the door and lock herself away from the world. “No, I'm okay, really.”

“All right. Touch base with me tomorrow so I don't worry about you, okay?” Shelley stepped forward and hugged her, patting her on the back several times before letting her go.

Once inside, Briar collapsed against the length of her door for a long moment, reveling in the humming silence. She was home. She was safe and in one piece. Thanks to Knox Callaghan. Knox Callaghan, who clearly possessed a noble streak and happened to be still locked up in that prison. It seemed vastly unfair that he was still in there with men like Gronsky and Pritchard.

Pushing off the door, she hurried to her bathroom and stripped off her scrubs. She kicked them in the corner, positive she would never wear them again.

She hesitated in front of her floor-­length mirror, her gaze traveling over her ravaged face before slipping down, fixing on the bruises on her arms. Four perfectly delineated fingerprints marked each forearm.

Her face crumpled. Tears broke free from her burning eyes. She couldn't hold them back any longer. Naked, she slid down the wall, watching her anguished reflection in the mirror. She wrapped her arms around her knees and wept, wiping at her wet cheeks and snotty nose. She cried for what had happened, for what she had almost become today. A victim. Just like her mother.

And she cried for Knox Callaghan still locked up in that prison.

 

ELEVEN

K
NOX STEPPED INTO
the room, not fully understanding what was happening. The room was familiar, as were the ­people sitting behind the table, staring at him and making him feel like he was something being examined beneath a microscope. He'd been brought to this same place four months ago for his first parole hearing, where they had resoundingly rejected his release.

A week had passed since the lockdown. If he was in trouble for what went down in the HSU, they would have already acted and enforced whatever consequence they deemed fit. He wouldn't have been walking around like business as usual.

He knew he had saved Nurse Davis from rape and maybe even worse. Maybe they would have killed her. Or killed Martinez. Or the doctor. Turned out they hadn't killed the guard. An oversight for them. They hadn't been about mercy that day.

Still, it didn't mean that the powers in charge wouldn't find him at fault. He squared his shoulders and took a careful breath. He wasn't fool enough to think his actions had earned him any points. He was no hero in anyone's eyes. Chester had conveyed that message clearly enough at the first opportunity.

After they hauled him from the HSU, they'd taken him to the hole. Chester had stopped by to taunt him through the door. “So I hear you played Superman in there,” he sneered. “Is that what you think you are now? Some fucking hero?”

Knox had held silent. He knew well enough that no one cared about what he had to say. He learned more keeping his mouth shut anyway. And sure enough, Chester kept on talking.

“You got that doctor fooled telling everyone that you saved them . . . but not me. Don't think this is going to change anything for you. You're still scum, Callaghan.”

Ironically, he had been released from seg an hour later with no explanation. Apparently the doctor had succeeded in persuading the powers that be that he wasn't involved in the attack. He liked to think Briar Davis had a hand in that, too. That she had found her voice to speak on his behalf. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't have been a hope, but there it was.

Gazing at the suits behind the table, he realized Warden Carter sat behind the table, too. Knox had never had occasion to speak to him before, but he was seated at the center of the table, two men on both sides of him.

“Knox Callaghan.” He gestured to the empty chair across from the table. “Have a seat.”

After a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward and took a seat. There wasn't really any choice. There never was.

“What you did last week was remarkable,” the warden began.

Knox stared, uncertain how to respond to that.

“Dr. Walker has not stopped singing your praises.” The warden glanced to the left and right of him before looking back at Knox. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

So he was expected to speak. “I'm glad the doctor and his staff are all right.”
Her
. He was glad
she
was all right. Because he had done it for her. He couldn't say for sure, but he doubted he would have gone through so much trouble had it not been for her.

Was she all right?
She had looked so wrecked at the end. Barely clothed, her eyes huge and haunted in her pale, battered face.

Before he was hauled from the room, their gazes had locked and something passed between them. A silent exchange beyond words. She was shaken but not broken.

Her eyes had been enormous in a face that was the same shade of gray as the concrete floor. Dark smudges marred the skin under her eyes, reminding him of bruises. He was sure she had those, too, and not just what he saw on her face. Bruises all over her body. But they would fade. Probably already had. And so would that day. It would dull to memory for her.

She would put this place and what almost happened behind her. She was lucky that way. Lucky to be able to go on with her life. No scars. She wouldn't jump at the sound of every man's voice. There would be no nightmares she couldn't shake, driving her to swallow a bottle of pills.

But it could have been that way.
If he had just been one day longer in the hole. Or if his brother hadn't mentioned anything to him . . .

Panic swelled up inside him before he pulled back. But it didn't happen. It didn't go down like that. She was okay. Nothing like his cousin.

“They are alive and largely unharmed thanks to you,” the warden continued. “A fact the good doctor won't let us forget.” His eyebrow arched in a way that made Knox think he would have liked to forget it. He would have liked to move on.

Warden Carter sighed and looked down, treating Knox to a view of his shiny bald head as he opened a folder in front of him. He scanned it for a moment, turning one page as he said, “You were denied parole at your first hearing.”

Knox nodded. He hadn't particularly cared. As North had been denied parole at his previous two hearings, Knox wasn't expecting to get out at his first one. The courts had found him more culpable. It had been his idea to go rough up Mason Leary that night. He was in for eight to fifteen. North was in for only seven to twelve. It wouldn't have felt right, leaving this place before his brother.

The warden closed the folder with a snap. “We've decided that you've satisfied your sentence. Given your heroics last week, we can expedite the process for you.”

Knox blinked and leaned forward slightly in his chair. “My next hearing isn't until—­”

“Consider us convening now, Mr. Callaghan.” The warden motioned to the gentlemen on either side of him. “Right at this moment.”

Knox stared. He hadn't counted on being released at least for another two years. And definitely not before his brother. His gaze moved from the warden to the other men at the table. One of the suits actually smiled at him. As though he was bestowing a gift.

“Am I . . .” He couldn't finish the words. A mixture of elation and guilt warred within his too tight chest. The possibility that he was free after eight years collided with the nightmare of leaving his brother behind. His baby brother. Who wouldn't even be here if he hadn't dragged him along on that long ago night.

The warden nodded. “You're paroled, Mr. Callaghan.”

LOOKING AROUND HIS
CELL
, Knox couldn't think of a single thing to take with him. He didn't possess much. Nothing special. The only thing he wanted to take with him was his brother.

North sat silently across from him, gripping the edge of the mattress.

“I'll visit—­” Knox started to say.

“Don't. Don't come back here. I'll be out soon enough. My rep was never as bad as yours. You're the one considered a troublemaker.” He flashed Knox a grin. “They sounded like they would probably let me go at my next hearing. You'll see.”

Knox grimaced, sure North was exaggerating to make him feel better.

North continued, “I'll be on my best behavior . . . make sure they don't have a reason to keep me around.”

“You watch your back,” Knox warned, tightening the drawstring of his sack, knowing he didn't have much time before a guard returned for him. He looked his brother over, viewing him objectively. North wasn't as brawny as Knox but he was still solid sinew and muscle. His little brother was bigger than most guys in this place, super fast on his feet
and
well-­versed in kicking ass. Still. That face was too pretty. Too many guys wanted to make him their bitch.

“Always do,” North said.

“Stick close to the crew.”

“Man, I can handle myself. Now get the fuck out of here. Go get laid. Find that nurse who you had to play fucking hero for.”

He snorted even though something twisted inside his gut at the idea of seeing Briar Davis again. On the outside. “Right.”

North arched a dark eyebrow. “Don't act like you don't care. You risked your ass for her. She got her hooks in you. Maybe you should get yours in her.”

Reid chose that moment to enter the cell. Several others of their crew accompanied him, hanging back outside the bars. Knox and North fell silent at his arrival. It already felt tight with the two of them crammed inside the cement box, but now it felt claustrophobic with the six-­foot-­four guy in their midst.

“It's true, then,” Reid said. “You're out.”

Knox nodded. “Didn't plan on it. I expected to be in here ­couple more years.” He stopped, a lump clogging his throat he fought to suppress. Emotion was weakness. “North was supposed to get out of here first.”

“Yeah, well, life never goes the way it's supposed to. Does it?”

Knox nodded, thinking fast. He'd learned that lesson at twenty. When he'd buried his seventeen-­year-­old cousin. When he kissed his freedom good-­bye.

He stepped forward and held out his hand. Reid stared at it for a moment before taking it. Clasping it hard, he hauled Knox in for a quick guy hug, clapping him once on the back. “Don't ever fucking come back here, you understand?” he said roughly close to his ear.

A shudder racked Knox at the unexpected display of affection. Reid wasn't a hugger. Not hardly. The guy was a few years older than him, and he'd been in here since he was nineteen. He was all hard edges and pale eyes without mercy. And he was never getting out. Reid was a lifer.

“I'll never come back,” Knox promised. “At least not as an inmate. I'll visit North—­”

“No,” his brother bit out, coming up off the bars he had been leaning against as Knox and Reid talked. His brown eyes flashed darkly. “You won't. Save yourself the trip. Don't visit me.”

“Bullshit,” Knox snapped out. “I'm not going to just forget about you in—­”

“We stopped Uncle Mac from visiting—­”

“That was different. Seeing us in here was killing him.” Knox wasn't going to let himself think about how hard it would be to sit across from his brother still locked up. It didn't matter what hurt him. He was the reason North was in this place. He would suffer in silence on those visits to his brother, but he
would
come.

“Yeah, well. I'll be out soon enough. You don't need to come back ever. Understand? You got something to tell me, you call me. We can talk on the phone.”

He stared hard at his brother, mute frustration warring inside him. He had seen his brother every day for the last eight years—­excepting the times either one of them spent in the hole. How could he just walk out of here and not see him again for months? Maybe even longer? There was no way he could forget about North stuck in here. Living, fighting, surviving without Knox.

“Hey, man,” Reid inserted as though reading his thoughts. He clapped Knox on the shoulder. “We got his back. Like always.”

“See.” North grinned again, all cockiness and swagger. He jabbed a thumb in Reid's direction. “I got a fucking babysitter.”

He nodded, mostly because he didn't want to spend his last moments with North arguing. The fact of the matter was that nothing would keep him from visiting North. “Fine.”

“Good. Now let's get the sappy shit over with. They got a new shipment in the commissary.” His brother stepped in for a hug that was longer and harder than the one he'd just shared with Reid.

North's fingers dug deep into his shoulder blades. “I'll be out soon. Don't worry. And don't forget . . . look up that little nurse while you're out.”

He stiffened and stepped back. “Yeah, not a stalker.”

“Whatever. You saved her life. She just might want to thank you properly for that.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for his bag. “I'll settle for one of the regulars at Roscoe's. Maybe look up an old flame that isn't married with a few kids yet.”

“Man, you're making me jealous. Go eat some chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes at Millie's, too.”

Reid snorted and waved his hand. “I'm outta here. What a lifer doesn't want to hear about is all the chicken fried steak and ass you're about to score.” Before he departed, he leaned in close to add, his light-­colored eyes, a color caught between green and amber, scanning Knox's face meaningfully, “You need help when you're outside, I've got ­people. Just say the word.”

“Thanks, man.” Knox nodded, but hoped it would never come to that. He knew some of those guys. A few had served time with them in here. They weren't men that would ever be clean, and Knox was planning on doing just that. He was going to walk a straight line. Take care of his family. Never fuck up again.

Alone with his brother, the enormity of what was happening pressed down on him. Emotion thickened his throat. “I'm sorry, bro.”

“For what?”

“For landing you in here. And now leaving you.”

“Man, you didn't put me in here. We did that together. That night . . . you weren't leaving me at home. I wasn't having it. I was there beside you every step of the way.”

He wasn't going to argue with his brother that it had been his idea. His plan. He should have thought to the future and what could come of going after their cousin's rapist. The outcome seemed so obvious now. He should have considered what going to jail would do to his aunt and uncle, and to Katie, who was already so fragile after the assault. He should have thought of Mason Leary's family. They didn't deserve the grief his actions put them through. Only he hadn't thought. He'd been young and angry and stupid. And he would pay for it all his life,

A guard appeared at his open cell door. “Let's go, Callaghan.”

He looked a final time at his brother. He didn't move in for another hug. They'd said all they needed to say. No use dragging this out. For either one of them.

The pretty bastard grinned that smile of his. The one that was still disarming and full of life—­that said he wasn't beaten and that wasting his youth in this place hadn't ruined him. “See you on the other side.”